


I'll Mourn for a Kid, but Won't Cry for a King

by loubuttons



Series: I've Been Tested Like the Ends of a Weathered Flag that's By the Sea [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), Kidnapping, Major Character Injury, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark Friendship, No Slash, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Psychological Trauma, Spoiler -- he isn't, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Friendship, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark-centric, Tony thinks Peter is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-27 22:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16228394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loubuttons/pseuds/loubuttons
Summary: They took his freedom. For that, he'll blow the air out of their lungs.They took his suit. For that, he'll consume their skin with flames.They took his leg. For that, he'll replace their bones with shrapnel.They took his son.For that, he'll rip the hearts out of their chests.





	I'll Mourn for a Kid, but Won't Cry for a King

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from Neon Gravestones by twenty one pilots.

When Tony comes to, his first thought is  _ ‘Help me!’. _ But he isn’t the one who needs help, is he? It’s Peter’s sobs he remembers; Peter’s childlike weeping. As he blinks awake, Tony realizes it isn’t a memory. 

 

“Peter,” He gasps, struggling to sit upright. 

 

“Whoa there, big guy, take it slow,” 

 

Reeling, Tony focuses on Natasha, who kneels on the ground beside him. 

 

“What?” His mouth is full of cotton, or maybe someone’s stolen his tongue. Peter’s still screaming, “Where is he?” 

 

He catches Natasha’s dismay before she can school her expression. Using her shoulder, Tony pulls himself to his feet, ignoring her loud cautioning. Black spots swallow the center of his vision. 

 

_ “Mr. Stark? Someone help me!  _ Please **_!”_ **

 

Swallowing back vomit, Tony stumbles forward blindly. 

 

“I’m coming,” He whispers, “I’m coming, Peter,” 

 

Strong hands find his shoulders, stopping him in his tracks, “Slow down,” 

 

Fear sends a thrill down Tony’s spine. Weakly, he fights against the grip and meets little resistance. 

 

“Get away from me. Where’s my kid?” 

 

Before Steve can answer, Tony passes out. The last thing he hears is Peter’s terrified voice. 

 

_ “Mr. Stark?”  _

  
  


The second time he wakes, it’s because of pain. Hot, searing pain. 

 

_ It’s my heart,  _ he thinks,  _ they’re stealing my heart again. But I need it.  _

 

He passes out again. 

  
  


The pain isn’t as bad as he remembers. And it isn’t his chest like he’d thought through the fog of agony. Bleary, Tony grasps his thigh, a good seven inches above the pain. He can’t reach his calf. 

 

“Sorry about your leg,” Someone familiar is speaking to him, but it isn’t the voice he wants to hear. Whose voice does he want to hear? 

 

“What did you do to me?” As the question escapes his mouth, he feels ten years younger -- younger and trapped in a cave. Tony almost expects to hear Yinsen’s voice answer. If he opens his eyes now, Tony will see him shaving with his straight razor. 

 

But it isn’t Yinsen. It’s Bruce Banner. 

 

“Nothing that wasn’t necessary. Trust me, I didn’t enjoy looking at your femur,” 

 

Tony’s sure that if he were able to to understand what Bruce said, he’d laugh, because it was clearly meant to be a joke. As it is, he simply focuses on staying awake. 

 

“What happened?” When his own voice filters through the heavy air, finally reaching his own ears, another question fights it’s way to his tongue, “Where’s Peter?” 

 

“We’re not repeating your little episode,” Natasha says, “Stay down,” 

 

Turning panicked eyes on her, Tony demands, “Where is he? Is he okay?” 

 

A scraping sound, like a cell door opening, interrupts her answer. Suddenly, Tony’s environment registers. He isn’t lying in a bed, but on a cot. Someone has taken his suit off. Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov, and Bruce Banner are with him. He isn’t in a hospital -- he’s a prisoner. The full force of the word slams the air out of his mouth. 

 

“On your feet,” 

 

_ “Do as I do,”  _

 

Yinsen is here with him, helping him off the cot. Or is that Bruce? 

_ “Do as I do!”  _

 

He does as Yinsen says. Careful of his leg, still leaning on Bruce, Tony places his hands above his head. Worried and disoriented, he hisses instructions to Steve. 

 

“Don’t be a hero -- put your hands on your head,” 

 

Despite knowing his captors are speaking English, and that he’s in a white-washed cell, not a cave, he can’t get out of the desert. And he knows what happens to men like Steve underneath the sand. As he’s checking to see if Steve’s complying, a woman steps into the room. 

 

“You should listen to him, Captain Rogers,” She looks young -- too young to have a gun strapped to her hip. Too young to bear Hydra’s insignia on her chest, “It’s unfortunate Stark wasn’t awake earlier to give you that advice,” 

 

Tony turns slightly to glance at Steve. Although he stands tall, his lip is split, and his eyes bruised an ugly green. In that moment, Tony hates this woman. 

 

“Nothing to say, Stark? I was told you never knew when to stop talking,” 

 

Voice small, he answers, “I didn’t hear a question,”

 

As she steps forward, her guards follow. One of the stark lights flickers over head. Protectively, Bruce puts an arm around Tony’s waist. Tony’s voice may be lost somewhere, but he holds her gaze unflinchingly. 

 

“I heard you were you looking for someone. Isn’t that right, Mr. Stark?” 

 

Fear floods him. Whereas before she’d addressed him by surname only, now she uses an honorific as well. She knows about Peter. 

 

Self-preservation gone and tongue returned, Tony spits, “Where is he?” 

 

When she approaches him, her steps are measured. On instinct, Bruce backs away, with Tony still in his arms. Tony tries to hold his ground, his right leg on fire. 

 

“Now, that I don’t know,” She smiles, as if she’s made a joke. 

 

“What do you mean?” The pain of standing leaves him gasping. He’s painfully aware of Steve and Natasha, backed into separate corners of the room. Tony knows that if it weren’t for him, each of his fellow prisoners could have fought their way out already. 

 

“Well, Stark, no one knows where people go when they die,” 

 

The world lists to the side. Steve makes an aborted move toward him, only to be ordered back. The light flickers again. 

 

“We don’t have video of Spider-Man’s...untimely passing, unfortunately, but we do have audio. I played the live feed in your cell, Stark, but I think you might’ve missed a few parts,” 

 

The screaming from before. Peter isn’t within Tony’s reach; he never was. 

 

“Here, I’ll play the rest for you,” 

 

Signalling of her masked soldiers, she turns away from Tony. He takes that moment to breathe, his eyes screwed shut. Only Peter himself could convince Tony that his boy is dead, but the thought is enough to make him hyperventilate. 

 

Then the audio plays through the cell. 

 

_ “Anyone? Please, if you can hear me, this is Spider-Man. I’m-I’m pinned down. They backed me into a corner,”  _

 

Peter’s voice shakes, as he struggles to sound brave. 

 

_ “Mr. Stark?”  _

 

Tony’s stomach rolls. 

 

“ _ Can you hear me?”  _

 

Yes. 

 

_ “Someone help me! I can’t get out,”  _

 

He’s panicking, terrified. Convulsively, Tony grips the short hair on the back of his own head, tugging hard enough that some is ripped free. 

_ “Mr. Stark! Mr. St--”  _

 

And it’s over. It cuts off so suddenly, it’s as if Karen stopped recording. But Peter’s suit is connected to Peter himself. It would only stop recording if Peter wasn’t in it anymore. 

 

“You said his name was Peter?” 

 

Tears fall hotly down Tony’s cheeks. He’s frozen. He’s trembling. He’s dying. He wants Peter’s name out of her mouth. 

 

“It’s almost sad -- he sounded so young. Almost like a child, calling for --” 

 

“Stop,” Even to Hydra scum, an order from Captain America means something. 

 

Tony’s blind. All he can see is the filthy floor, slowly fading to black. Tony’s deaf. His ears are filling with water -- that’s the only explanation for the muffled wailing in he can hear. Tony’s without smell. Except for the blood on Bruce’s shirt. Maybe this is how death feels -- static in his palms and weeping in his mind. 

 

“I’ll be back later. We have a lot to talk about,” 

 

There is nothing to talk about. There never will be again. 

 

Once the cell door closes behind her, it’s like Tony’s body, which was stunned before, can’t function any longer. He collapses against Bruce. 

 

“Tony, calm down,” 

 

Doesn’t he know? The world ended a few days ago, Tony’s just now catching up. 

 

_ “Mr. Stark?”  _

 

Falling to his knees, Tony pants through the horror. 

 

_ “Help me!” _

 

Steve is trying to help him, but there’s no saving Tony now. 

 

_ “Anybody?!”  _

His skin is on fire. Did Peter burn, too?

 

_ “Mr. Stark!”  _

 

On his hands and knees, Tony screams, because that’s all that’s left. 

  
  
  


Hydra comes and goes. Sometimes with more torturous words, others with food and medical supplies. At first, Tony shuts down. He lets Bruce redress his mangled leg without complaint. When Natasha presses food into his open palm, he stares at her, eyes glassy and does nothing. 

 

But the haze can only last so long. When it fades, it’s replaced by rage. 

 

They took his freedom. For that, he’ll blow the air out of their lungs. 

 

They took his suit. For that, he’ll consume their skin with flames. 

 

They took his leg. For that, he’ll replace their bones with shrapnel. 

 

They took his son. 

 

For that, he’ll rip the hearts out of their chests. 

  
  
  


Steve shakes him awake this time. 

 

“Tony,” He says gently, “You were screaming,” 

 

Well, isn’t everyone else? 

 

Their cell is small, and contains nothing aside from a toilet, sink, and one cot. The others, who Tony can’t look in the eye, have opted to sleep on the bare floor. Apparently, Tony’s leg is so damaged, Bruce wants him confined to the cot. 

 

“Where were you?” Tony whispers, voice cracking; his throat is raw again. Tony’s capture is hazy and warped, but he remembers bits. Distinctly, he remembers calling Steve as a last resort. He was sure Steve would save them. 

 

Guiltily, Steve drops his earnest gaze, “Too late,” 

 

It isn’t an answer, and it isn’t enough. 

  
  
  


Everyone is subject to Hydra’s cruelty, not just Tony. On Natasha, they use long, gruesome stories about what she’s done. Things she did for them. Tony doesn’t care. While tormenting Bruce, they show him lists of names. It’s all the people who’ve died, because they were in Hulk’s way. Tony sleeps standing up. But Steve is different. 

 

They use Steve’s friend, or ‘The Asset’, as Hydra refers to him. They tell him about whips and muzzles and being chained like an animal. And Tony hasn’t forgiven Steve -- he  _ can’t _ \-- or whatever’s left of the man Tony tried to kill, but it turns even his stomach. It leaves Steve shaking with the injustice of it all. Tony imagines how outraged Peter would be on the old prisoner’s behalf. If he lets his thoughts wander, Tony’s nearly glad Peter isn’t here to hear what they say. 

  
  


As Bruce pours hydrogen peroxide on Tony’s infected leg, Tony feels and old spark ignite. 

 

“When did they give that to you?” 

 

Surprised, Bruce flinches. Tony hasn’t spoken in days. 

 

“After they put you in the cell. I told them that you wouldn’t last a week without it,” 

 

“What percentage is it?” 

 

“Seven point five. I asked for something else, since it isn’t ideal, but they said this is the strongest disinfectant I’m allowed. Why?” 

 

Roughly, he pulls the black bottle out of Bruce’s hand, “Let me see,” 

Seven point five isn’t ideal for medical purposes, because it’s too high of a grade, and shouldn’t be used on a large area of the body. Bruce uses it sparingly on Tony’s leg, and only as a last resort. They watched his leg slowly swell, the skin stretching, turning a shining red for days before Bruce ever used it. But for what Tony intends to make out of it, it’s perfect. 

 

A sadistic grin twists the corners of his mouth, “Think you could get more?” 

  
  
  


When he falls asleep, Tony’s lips are cracked and bleeding. He’s woken by Steve’s concern again. This time, when a cup of water is pressed to his lips, he doesn’t knock it away. Thirsty, he gulps the water so quickly he’s momentarily afraid he’ll vomit up the sandwich Natasha hand-fed him. Steve supports his head with a wide hand on the back of his neck. 

 

“I’m gonna miss you,” The words slip out before Tony can stop them. 

 

Reverently, Steve wipes Tony’s wet cheeks. He must have cried in his sleep again. 

 

“I’m not leaving again,” 

 

Callously, Tony pats his arm. He knows Steve isn’t going anywhere. Tony is. 

  
  
  
  


“Can you tell what his plan is?” 

 

“No,” 

 

Soft voices interrupt his fitful sleep. 

 

“I’m a chemist, and an engineer, but Tony is…” 

 

“Tony,” Natasha supplies, as if there’s no other apt descriptor. 

 

“I get the basic idea -- I know what he needs the peroxide and bandages for. What I don’t understand is the lightbulbs,” Bruce sounds perplexed, a sensation Tony imagines sleepily is unfamiliar to him. Why would he understand what they’re for? Bruce has spent his life trying to help people; inflict minimum damage on the earth while he’s on it it -- Tony intends to do the opposite. 

 

“Can you ask him? He seems most receptive to you, when he’s awake,” Steve is a practical man, one who always tries to have a plan. He knows that Tony only tolerates him, when he’s fully conscious. As soon as Tony blows up this joint, he won’t even have to look at Steve -- or Natasha. 

 

Resisting the urge to roll off the bed and point out that Bruce is the only person in the room that hasn’t tried to kill him before, Tony tries to force himself to sleep. It might be the last time he gets to. 

 

“I think speaking…” Bruce pauses, “Is very difficult for him right now,” 

 

Neither Steve nor Natasha reply. 

 

“He ask me for Peter again last night,” Natasha says, after the silence almost lulls Tony into dreaming. 

 

Tony yearns for rest. 

  
  
  


“If this is going to work, we’re going to have to move fast,” 

 

Hydra was finally convinced to give Bruce the extra medical supplies he asked for. It’ll be their undoing. Steve listens with all the attention of a soldier receiving his marching orders. Bruce looks at him calmly from over the top of his glasses. Natasha only smiles. 

 

“What do you need?” 

 

“See that light bulb?” He points the the one that never stops flickering. It’s the long, fluorescent kind. It’s just what he needs. 

 

“Yeah,” 

 

“Unscrew it for me, Steve,” 

It’s almost funny to watch his huge hands try do manage something so delicate. When he’s done, he puts it in Tony’s lap. 

 

“Cool,” Tony says, almost to himself, then smashes it. 

 

Bruce flinches, “Careful, Tony! You cut yourself,” 

 

Tony waves him away, “I’m fine,” He continues to break the glass into smaller pieces. 

 

“Steve get me another bulb,” 

  
  


While he works, Tony doesn’t speak or answer any questions. He works as quickly as he can -- if the guards come running, they’ll have to fight their way out. As Bruce has anxiously pointed out several times, Tony is in no fit state to do so. 

 

“Tony, explain what you’re doing so I can help,” 

 

Tony leans against the sink, trying not to disrupt the small fire he’s started in the basin. He knew there must’ve been a faulty connection in that bulb -- why else would it have flickered so much? Using the damaged wires, a lucky spark, and the extra bandages, he’s made a small flame. 

 

“If you don’t get off that leg, you won’t last to the end of the day,” 

 

“Pretty important day for me, then,” 

  
  


“Okay, once I pour the peroxide on the fire, it’ll hopefully blow out the plumbing,” 

 

The bandages are still on fire, now stuffed into the sink drain.  

 

“After that --” 

 

“Let me do it,” Steve commands firmly. 

 

Defiantly, Tony stares him down, “You don’t know what you’re doing,” 

“I think I can manage pouring something,” He answers dryly, “If it ignites immediately, then it’ll blow up in your face. And you can’t run away,” 

 

“This is stupid. Don’t argue with me,” 

 

“He’s right,” Natasha supplies quietly. 

 

Tony waits, fuming. When Bruce says nothing, he relents, “Whatever. I hope you lose an eye,” The joke falls flat, because it isn’t a joke. 

 

“After the Captain ‘pours something’, we’ll need to move quickly. The second bomb should go off when they open the door. Take cover, because it won’t just be a bang,” 

 

A small bundle of bandages -- containing broken glass, bolts from the cot, and any other shrapnel Tony could make -- is hidden against the cell door, designed to ignite itself when the Hydra guards slide the door open. The bandages are soaked in hydrogen peroxide, and friction should be enough to set the unstable compound ablaze. He has to explain quickly -- the longer the peroxide is exposed to open air, the more it becomes water and oxygen. 

 

He swallows around his cotton tongue, “Hopefully, that takes out the first round of guards,” 

 

“And after that?” Bruce asks, apprehensive. 

 

“We fight our way out,” 

 

“ _ They  _ fight our way out,” Bruce corrects, nodding to Steve and Natasha, who stand at attention, “You’re injured and without weapons, and I’m assuming you don’t want the Big Guy joining this fight,” Slowly, the tips of his ears are already turning green. 

 

“That’s exactly what I want,” Tony replies flatly. 

 

Alarmed, Bruce turns to Steve. Steve steps forward, cautious. 

 

“That’s not the best--” 

 

“I want them dead, Steve,” The proclamation silences anything he was going to say. Tony is cold, calculating, “I want them broken and bleeding,” 

 

_ “Help me!”  _

 

He sees Peter in Steve’s concerned, yet determined expression and hates him even more. 

 

“I want them choking on their own blood, and if Hulk has to come out to play to do that, I don’t care,” 

 

Angry, Bruce scoffs, “Well, I do. I’m not a killer, Tony, I don’t want to--”

 

“Peter was sixteen,” Tony announces, now staring into Bruce’s eyes, issuing a challenge. He surprised even himself, but now he can’t stop, “He had curly hair and hazel eyes and they killed him,” 

 

The green spreads. 

  
  


The bombs work like they’re supposed to, and Hulk swats away every wave of soldiers as they come. Anyone who escapes him is met by Captain America and Black Widow. They don’t stand a chance. Tony limps behind them, as they run for the exit, trying to stay conscious. Steve catches him lagging behind. Without comment, he gathers Tony into his arms like a child and starts taking Hydra out with well-timed kicks. 

 

Yeah. Tony hates him. 

 

The escape is easier than Tony thought it would be, but that might be because he keeps passing out. 

 

“My suit,” He mumbles to Steve, dizzy, “We gotta get my suit,” 

 

“It’s alright, you can build another one,” 

 

“No,” Tony nearly rolls his eyes. Sometimes it feels like he’s the only one with a brain, “No one knows where we are. I can use it to call Rhodey,” 

 

Grimly, Natasha looks up at him -- that’s how tall Steve is; if Tony’s in his arms, people have to look up at him -- and asks, “How much of it do you need?” 

 

“Just the helmet,” 

Before Hulk or Steve can stop her, she runs back inside. They take cover in the woods surrounding the facility, and wait for her return. Half an hour later, she hands him his helmet, with no new scratches on her person. At Tony’s questioning look, she shrugs. 

 

“They were almost all dead, anyway,” 

 

Steve shocks him when he says, “Good,” 

  
  


A Quinjet come for them only an hour after Tony calls Rhodey. As he lies on a stretcher built into the wall, Tony wishes his eyes wouldn’t open. What’s the point of going home? He left his heart in that cell. Bruce tries to calm him after he comes to, wailing. 

  
  


Heavily, he leans on Bruce. 

 

“Mr. Stark,” The pilot tries again, “You really should lie down. A medical team will come take you off the jet,” 

 

Tony tosses a disdainful look his way, “Shut up,” 

 

As he limps toward the jet’s doors, he dreads the people on the other side. They’re at the Compound, and he doesn’t know who’s waiting for them. He’s nearly down the ramp when a terrible thought occurs to him. He vomits. 

 

“Tony?” Worried, Bruce places a hand on his chest. 

 

“I have to call May,” 

 

Bruce doesn’t know who that is, and is in the middle of telling Tony so when a panicked voice reaches his ears. 

 

“I can’t see him, where is he?” 

 

The voice sounds so scared. Tony wants to tell him it will alright, that he’s okay. He can hardly think through the clamor of voices around them. They’re on the grass now, and Tony’s barely supporting any of his weight, on the verge of passing out again. 

“Is he okay?” 

 

And Rhodey’s there, but he can’t focus on his words, because that voice is breaking his heart. Who is it? Everything is spinning, and Tony’s certain he has a fever. 

 

“Mr. Stark?” 

 

The world stops spinning. 

 

Eyes flying open, Tony lifts his head. The crowd presses forward, but he cranes his neck to see around them. Pepper’s tear-streaked face is blocking him. 

 

“Mr. Stark, are you okay?” 

 

There. 

 

At the edge of everyone, stands Peter Parker. 

 

Shoving himself out of Bruce’s arms, and around concerned doctors and friends, Tony tears his stitches trying to run to him. Peter runs, too, closing the distance. When Tony’s leg gives out, he catches him as if he weighs nothing. 

 

“Mr. Stark, are you alright? I’m so sorry--” 

 

“You’re alive,” Tony gasps, stunned that the arms holding him don’t fade away. Slowly, he cups Peter’s cheek, and feels warm tears under his palm.  

 

As he leans into Tony’s touch, Peter sobs, “Yeah, yeah, I am. I thought you were--” 

 

“You’re  _ alive!  _ You were dead -- you were crying; you called for me I tried so hard to answer I’m sorry,” 

 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I panicked and didn’t know where you were and then you were  _ gone _ ,” 

 

“ _ Peter,” _ Tony breathes, Peter’s voice the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. He slides his hand to the back of Peter’s neck, pulling him down until he can press their foreheads together. They stay there, in each other’s arms, just breathing each other in. For the first time in days, the arc reactor isn’t the only thing keeping Tony alive. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I might turn this one into a series. Thank you very much for reading! 
> 
> (If you'd like to chat or swap Marvel conspiracy theories, my tumblr username is Loubuttons. Send me an anon!)


End file.
